Irkens Don't Sleep
by Eilike
Summary: Zim is captured and prepared for examination. Will his superior Irken technology fall into the hands of a mad agent? Dib makes his decision. But getting a groggy Zim out of the lab is only the beginning of the challenge... No ZaDR. Lots of sympathy :
1. The Flying Pinkness

What can I say? I've been watching my old "Invader Zim"-tapes, and there was this idea for another "Zim needs nursing and Dib feels obligated to provide it"-story, growing, developing, promising too much fun to resist. :)

No ZaDR coming up. In fact, I don't think there'll be much genuine ZaDF :) Rated "T" for safety.

***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***

* * *

><p>Chapter 1: The Flying Pinkness<p>

_Victory._

_At last._

There was no way Dib could (or would) hide his wide grin, as he approached the table in the canteen. As usual, Zim sat alone and just as usual he had hardly touched his food. He seemed to be running a scan on his cup, but he quickly pocketed the small device. Well, let him. His pockets will be the first thing to go through. Then his PAK. Then the...rest, the parts where it will get messy.

'This is Agent Thinpatience', Dib introduced the lean, dark clad figure walking beside him. 'He's taken over Network operations, whilst Agent Darkbooty is out of office, chasing Bigfoot on a camping site in Florida.'

Zim looked the human up and down. There was not much to see. Agent Thinpatience wore shades, his head was bald and his face hidden behind the collar of his coat.

'Everyone here seems to deem you a normal boy, Zim. Except Agent Mothman', Agent Thinpatience said. His voice was hoarse, very nearly toneless. 'I cannot have one of my agents running around chasing shadows. I want this matter to be settled.'

'You are going to brainwash the Dib?' Zim asked, hopefully.

'No. This time, "the Dib" is going to expose you for what you are,' said Dib, pointing at the cup on Zim's tray. 'Normal boys drink normal drinks.'

Zim flashed a quick glance at the cup. It contained apple juice and there was something about the smell that had encouraged the little alien to go ahead and have a try. His first scan seemed to back up the intuitive information of his antennae with scientific data.

But of course, being an experienced invader, Zim had meant to sip, then analyze, then sip again.

He had definitely not meant to knock back the drink, but - _'Needs must, if the Dib drives_,' he told himself. Besides, the Earth-scum's face was just too hilarious to behold.

Dib gasped: This was not at all going according to plan!

Zim grinned widely, putting the empty cup on the table.

Two seconds later his smile froze. He choked. The cup dropped to the floor.

Two more seconds of flailing arms and gagging noises and Zim's head flopped onto the table.

'Er...', said Dib. 'Zim?'

Agent Thinpatience shoved him aside, stooping over the collapsed alien. 'Oh no! It's an allergic reaction!'

'No!' Dib shouted. 'It's not! It's just – '

Agent Thinpatience felt Zim's left wrist. 'No pulse! Hurry! We need to get him to a doctor!'

'No! We don't!' Dib screamed, wondering why this scene felt so terribly familiar. _It's backfiring once again, that's why._ 'Listen to me! It's the apple juice! He's got this organ he calls "squeedly spooch" and it's obvious that he just can't - '

But Agent Thinpatience had already lifted Zim off his seat and, carrying the unconscious alien in his arms, dashed towards the exit. The dark car was waiting outside, engine running.

'Wait!' Dib gasped, trying to keep up. 'Where are you taking him?'

'The Crazy House for Boyz. It's nearby and we'll find everything we need!'

'For treating his ... allergic reaction?'

'Yes. And for conducting the tests you proposed.'

'You are going to cut him open?' Dib felt the heat of triumph flush his cheeks. He had to remind himself to keep moving his legs, they suddenly felt so weak. 'Really? No joking?'

'If that's what it takes to convince you of the error of your theories.' Agent Thinpatience stuffed the senseless alien into the car and fastened the belt over Zim's slack body. 'And if you are right, fame everlasting and the praise of mankind will be yours.'

'Fame,' echoed Dib. 'Ever. Lasting.' His knees gave way and he sank to the ground. 'No kidding? You're really going to – is this really – the praise of mankind? Agent Thinpatience?'

Catching his breath, Dib looked up. He found himself alone on the curbstone.

The agent's car and Zim were gone.

* * *

><p>Dusk turned into night and Dib was still up, basking in the glory of his victory.<p>

The first light of morning found him at his computer, calling Agent Thinpatience.

The agent appeared on-screen, collar, shades and bald head. He had to be an early riser – or he, like Dib, had not slept at all.

'Agent Mothman? You're early. Eager to get started on your little friend, are you?'

'Zim ist not my friend', Dib pointed out. 'But I'm looking forward to see my theory proven and the alien exposed.'

Agent Thinpatience's voice suggested a smile.'Well, you'll have to be patient just a little bit longer. Even if we found out about an alien species it would take some time to construct the space-ships necessary for launching the invasion.'

'Space-ships? Invasion?' Dib blinked in confusion. 'What are you talking about?'

'Why, the same as you, I should think. As soon as we find out we're not alone, we'll get space-bound and blast the creeps out of the known universe.'

'You mean, we'll conquer their world?'

For a short moment Agent Thinpatience's fist showed on screen. 'Conquer their world, destroy their cities, turn them into our slaves, then move on to the next planet.'

Dib frowned. 'Er...why would we do that?'

'Because we can. Because they are there.'

_He's mad_, Dib thought.

'You could be an invader, Agent Mothman,' the face on the screen went on. _'Invader Mothman._ Sent from earth to wreak havoc and doom on the world of the Inkling- '

'Irken. He's an Irken.'

' - doom on the world of Irken-scum.'

_Oh no. He's mad. And he's in charge of the Network, _Dib thought.

_And I've turned Zim in to them! Agent Thinpatience may hold the very key to Irken technology in his hands, _he thought. _I don't care about Irk or whatever Zim's homeworld is called. But moving on to the next planet, and the next and the next? Invader Mothman?_

Suddenly, Dib could see himself, living with a crazy robot in a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac on some backwater planet. Setting up lawn gnomes to fight off intruders. Reporting back to Agent Thinpatience that everything was under control, he was making progress, soon this dirty little world would be part of the... _Network Empire_.

Dib made up his mind_._

'Agent Thinpatience? I – I wonder, if I might visit Zim and – and bring him - ' Dib looked about, desperate for an excuse. His eyes fell on a fluffy pink piggy on his bookshelf. 'Well, he just loves that stuffed pig. I know from skool camp. He claimed he couldn't sleep without his piggy.'

He took down the piggy and waved it in front of the camera.

_Zim is going to kill me for that!_

'How cute', said Agent Thinpatience. 'And what a nice little friend you are. Of course you can bring him his toy.'

'He's not my friend!'

'Meet me after skool at the Crazy House for Boyz.'

'Half past one, then', Dib said. 'We get the afternoon off. It's part of Miss Bitters' scheme to prepare us for real life. She says, having an afternoon off we'll experience the dreary state that comes from not having anything meaningful to do, as we dwindle towards inevitable Doom.'

'I guess the skoolyard will be teeming with kids who play happily in the sun.'

'Yes, but Miss Bitters says that's part of the tragical error of their ways. By the time they realize that the sun is Doomed to set sooner or later, it will be too late...'

'A remarkable woman. I should like to meet her some day. We need women of her realism if we're to succeed in our Great Scheme of Conquest', Agent Thinpatience mused, thereby convincing Dib once and for all that he was a madman, whose plans had to be thwarted at all costs.

* * *

><p>The Crazy House for Boyz was a dreary place and being followed around by a floating screen didn't make it any better. Agent Thinpatience kept droning on about the various tests he planned to perform on Zim to furnish prove of Zim's being a perfectly normal boy - or not.<p>

Dib remembered a book on European witch-trials he had once read. The medival times had their ways of putting their victims to the test, as well. The problem was that the tests were designed in a specific way that tended to end fatally, no matter the actual sentence. Listening to Agent Thinpatience's perverted fantasies, Dib realized that Zim might be facing a similar problem here.

'Here we are', the masked face on the screen stated, stopping in front of a white door. 'This is where we keep your little friend.'

'He's not my – oh, all right!' Dib rushed forward to look through the large glass window in the door.

The room looked exactly like the sterile, clean surgeries he had always dreamed of for the task of delivering the final cut to his green Irken nemesis. The walls and floor were tiled a flawless white. Shining instruments were stored in metal compartments with glassy fronts to expose the contents. The gloomy light seemed to come from all around and focused on the polished metal table in the center of the room.

On the table, with his back to the door, lay Zim. He appeared to be asleep, curled up in a fetal position.

Dib turned to the hovering screen: 'He's not restrained?'

'Um, no', said Agent Thinpatience. 'He was, actually. But there's no need now. He was terrbily worked up. So we gave him something to help him sleep.' Agent Thinpatience seemed to shrug, but with his shoulders off-screen Dib could not be certain. 'As you can see, he does not need his piggy. Do you still want to enter?'

Dib looked down at the rubber pig in his left hand. He clutched it with both hands. His next two words required all of his determination. Was he really going to do this?

But then he thought of Miss Bitters in a uniform, acting as a drill instructor for the first cohort of human invaders on alien worlds. And he thought of those worlds, home of little boys that gazed up into the stars, knowing that even if they saw _something_, their resistance would be a lonely one, for no one would ever believe them. _Invader Mothman_, he thought. _Yes, maybe, one day. But not for your madness, Agent Thinpatience. Not just because those boys are *there* _- and he heard himself say, 'Yes, please.'

Some mechanism clicked and the white door swung open a bit.

Dib smiled confidently, then opened his eyes wide and pointed his finger down the corridor. 'Hey! What was that over there?'

The hovering screen turned. 'I do not see -'

'Oh no! It's the – the _Flying Pinkness_!' Dib hit the screen with the rubber pig, smashing this amazing piece of modern technology straight into the wall. The screen went to pieces. An alarm went off.

Dib dashed into the lab and to Zim's side. Hectically, he looked the alien over. There was no visible injury. They had not even removed a single glove yet. Zim's wig was still on and when Dib tentatively drew up one of the green eyelids, he found that even the contacts were still in place.

'Zim!' He grabbed the little alien by the collar and started shaking. 'Zim! Wake up! We have to get out of here!'

'...out', Zim agreed in a voiceless whisper. His eyes remained tightly closed. Dib's heart sank. He didn't think Zim's reply had been a conscious one.

The alarm was wailing. Someone was sure to arrive soon.

Dib pulled Zim to a sitting position, then turned to give him a piggyback ride. With Zim's arms and feet dangling limply, the Irken was an alarmingly dead weight. His head leaned against Dib's neck, the boy could feel the hair of the wig brush against his skin.

Dib took some hesitating steps, then stopped again: 'Look, Zim, I know you're having a hard time and all, but – could you give me a hand here and put your arms around my neck? So you won't fall off backwards when I start running?'

'Hhm?'

Dib stomped his foot with helpless impatience. 'Come on, Zim! Even toddlers know how to do it! It's instinct, you know, holding on to their parents!'

'Monkey-smeets', the alien breathed in his ear and shivered. 'Talk and talk in their – _bwrrr!_ – nasty words, so many words - '

'Let me sum it up for you, then: Hold! Fast!', Dib hissed and this time Zim slid his arms around his rescuer's neck. His hard, gloved fingers dug into Dib's skin, but the boy ignored the pain. This was probably what you got, when you told any creature, dazed and frightened and equipped with claws, to 'hold fast'.

Dib adjusted Zim's weight and ran.

It was not before he could see his house that he remembered he had lost his rubber pig.

* * *

><p>*End of Chapter 1*<p>

There it is, the work of one weekend. Not too much nursing so far. But I guess you can see, where it's headed. :)


	2. Safety

Hi everyone, I'm back for chapter 2.

InvaderMia - thanks for your review; I hope you'll like the story as it evolves. :)

***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Safety<p>

'Gaz? I'm home,' Dib shouted, kicked the door shut and headed for the stairs. 'I do not want to be disturbed.'

'Who'd go up there anyway and enter this spooky realm of yours?' Much to Dib's chagrin Gaz appeared in the kitchen door. She held a "lickamaid"-carton and pointed the stick at her brother. 'You went out with a rubber pig and return with – that?'

'It's not what it looks like! I mean, yes, it's Zim, but - ' Dib felt himself flush.

'Good,' Gaz said, putting the stick back in her mouth. 'Because "it" looks pretty near dead.'

Dib craned his neck, 'Is it that bad?'

'Worse.' Gaz spoke without feeling and turned the stick in her mouth. When Dib hastened up the stairs and into his room, she followed in his wake. 'You're not going to put him on your bed, are you?'

'Where would you prefer I put him?' Dib snapped. 'Your room? Or Dad's? The garage, maybe? Why not offer him Tak's spaceship on a silver platter?'

Gaz did not bother to answer. But she was making herself useful, gathering up stuff from Dib's bed and dumping it on the floor next to the computer desk.

Dib let Zim slip onto the sheets, then switched on the bedside lamp to have a closer look at the alien. Zim moved away from the light, until his PAK hit the wall in the far corner. There he remained, closing up like an oyster by drawing up his knees and wrapping his thin arms around his shins. He looked alive enough for Dib to get angry at his sister. 'You really scared me. I expected him to drool blood or have gone all pale blue or sprouted a second pair of legs or something.' He turned back to his patient. 'But he doesn't look that bad, actually.'

'He looks comatose,' Gaz said and that was most definitely true.

They both looked on some more.

'Do you think black coffee would help?' Dib asked, his voice tiny. 'Or, or maybe we could -'

'If you want to experiment, start eating skool canteen food. You make me so angry.' Gaz turned on her heel and marched out.

'But I need to test him. What else could I do?' Dib said, talking to himself. He sat on his bed, indicisively watching Zim huddled in the corner. There was not much to watch. Zim was out cold and breathing softly in the regular pattern of deep slumber. Dib wrung his hands, lifted them theatrically and talked to the ceiling, 'If I am to help, I need facts to work with.' He paused. 'I am a scientist. I put things to the test. That's what scientists do, right? Provide answers to questions that need to be solved.' More pausing. 'For – for the sake of all. Of. Humanity.'

_Humanity._

_Sure, Dib._

'Zim...,' he added, feeling a little forlorn. 'Zim...kind...'

Zim did not object, but something deep within Dib's own conscience stirred. He watched Zim timidly from the corner of his eyes. 'I need some sample of his blood. For testing the chemistry.'

But he didn't need to test the chemistry. He knew what was wrong. Agent Thinpatience had told him.

_He was terribly worked up. So we gave him something to sleep._

Oh, if only Zim was human! If only he could be brought to a hospital. Dib would tell the doctors to check the Irken's blood for sedatives, to fight the effects of a severe overdose of sleeping pills, they would extract the necessary blood samples, put a drip into Zim's vein...and then...then they would - _the lab_. The dissection. The -

'_Nnngh_,' said Dib.

'Dib-thing?' Zim rasped. 'That you?'

Dib started at the unexpected sound: 'Zim?'

'What is this place?' Zim's lids quivered and, with obvious difficulty, raised to half-mast. Judging by the glazed-over looks of the eyes beneath it didn't make much difference, though.

'Let's call it safety,' Dib said and realized at the same time just how much he'd always longed for an opportunity to say that.

_What is this place? – Call it safety!_

_Cooool!_

'Need coordinates,' Zim told him. 'Is "Safety" far from my bas- my house?'

Dib sighed, knowing that his bravado had been wasted on the alien's unimaginative mindset. 'No, it's just a few blocks down the road.'

'GIR...,' Zim said plaintively, drawling the "i". He seemed to focus inward like someone trying to move an unresponsive limb.

'GIR? Oh, you mean your dog-robot...dog, thing? Hey? Where do you think, you're going?'

Zim, who had quickly found out that neither his PAK-microphone nor his spider legs would respond to his organic brain's commands, decided to be on his way on his two legs.

But there was a catch - _'AAHHH!_ Big, fluffy softness is holding Zim's feet...!'

'It's only a mattress, stupid! You are on my bed!'

'Your bed, hm?' Zim squeezed one eye shut, pushed out his lower lip and prodded the ground.

_'It's not what it looks like,'_ Dib said testily. 'Zim? Are you okay?'

'Oh, Zim feels strange!' Zim curled up tightly again, shaking. His teeth rattled. 'Dib-thing? What is this strangeness and why do I feel it so - strangely?'

'Well, as far as I know, fructose doesn't agree with you too well. And they've given you sedatives to help you overcome the effects of the so-called allergic reaction. So, you don't feel "strange", you feel numb.' Dib quickly switched into lecture-mode and even raised one finger. 'Disorientated, light-headed, fatigued are probably the exact words to describe - '

'Yes, yes, and very nice words they are, aren't they?' Zim snarled. 'But what do they _mean_?'

'You're drunk,' Dib said. He couldn't think of a way to put it any plainer. 'On apple juice. And sedated with an assorted variety of anaesthetics and painkillers, I guess. In order to know for sure I'd have to take some - '

'Variety? What variety?' Zim flashed his teeth as he seemed to remember at least part of what had happened to him yesterday. 'Oh, the sickness - '

Dib resisted the impulse to put a sympathetic hand on the alien's shoulder. 'It will pass, Zim. I got you out of there. No one's giving you anything now.'

Zim's teeth clattered badly, but he managed to wrench out a question, 'Earlier...you said, Zim was safe?'

'Well, that was more generally speaking - '

Zim frowned. He was so puzzled he even stopped shaking. 'Zim is generally safe with the Dib?'

Dib flinched. 'Man, Zim, that's not fair of you to ask!' he complained.

'Not safe, then?'

'I didn't say that,' Dib protested.

'Not safe, then?' Zim persisted relentlessly.

'For heaven's sake, Zim - '

_'NOT SAFE - ?_' Zim yelled.

'NO! NOT SAFE! We're enemys, remember?' Dib yelled back. Zim stared at him, his false blue eyes wide and blank. He blinked once. Twice.

Dib sighed. 'I didn't mean to scare you, but – geez, Zim, let me at least make up my mind on this, before you start pushing me!'

'I AM ZIIIM!' Zim told him and dug his right hand into Dib's pillow for emphasis. 'I will bear any unbearable pain this unbearably big head of yours can bear!'

'Big deal, space boy! You're brimming with all sorts of painkillers,' Dib snapped, trying to save his pillow before the alien's claws drew feathers.

Zim seemed to consider this.

'No pain,' he agreed and clutched his squeedly spooch. 'But the sickness. _Oh, so sick..._'

Dib ran his hand through his hair. 'Okay, Zim. Okay. Point taken. Let's do this the heroic way: Yes. Yes - yes, all right! You're safe with me. I _will_ take care of you.'

'Like Irk you will,' Zim murmured, his eyes flickering and closing again.

'Go back to sleep,' Dib said, trying to sound reassuring and failing. 'You're almost out, anyway.'

'_Liar!_' Zim flared up, then went out fast, 'Irkens don't slee- '

'Like Irk they do,' Dib said softly. He waited until he could be sure Zim was breathing okay. He looked at the pillow in his hand. He thought. He thought twice.

He put his pillow down at the other side of the bed, well out of the alien's reach.

Then Dib crawled from the bed. He rummaged through the closet under his computer desk and produced a cardboard box. It was a gimmick he had been offered to order at a knockdown price, when he first subscribed to the "Corn Cycle" magazine. The front illustration displayed a white-clad youth, trying to look like a surgeon, grinning madly and wielding a syringe like a hand gun. The bold, red letters over his head read 'When I grow up, I will be ...', and below, in less flashy words '...a Physician".

The funny thing was that the contents of the box were not toys but high-quality surgical instruments. Dib had always known that there would come a day when he'd be in dire need of a good scalpell and syringe and he had ordered at once.

He chose a thin needle from a set of twenty and disinfected the syringe. He climbed over to Zim and, taking a deep breath, lifted the Irken's arm. It was so skinny, it left Dib wondering, whether the needle might just run right through it.

_Now, to get this stuff off..._

For the very first time Dib removed Zim's black glove, revealing the green skinned fingers beneath. They were bony and covered with tiny scales, much like birds' claws. But they flexed just the way they should and they had a humanoid number of joints, almost in humanoid places. They yielded easily to Dib's toying and he marvelled at them. _This is it, _he realized._ The first direct contact, human skin to Irken - what IS this? C_allus? Keratin? _Chitin_?

_Gosh, I hope the needle won't snap off._

Dib pushed up the sleeve of Zim's shirt, applied a tourniquet and waited for a vein to stand out, but apparently this was not how Irken circulation worked. Determined not to let himself be stayed by trifles, Dib just drove the needle in. Zim did not flinch. Dib wondered if the clear liquid he drew from the alien's arm was supposed to be blood. He laid the syringe aside and repeated the process, using a new shot, this time on Zim's neck. The fluid gained here was slightly viscous and of a greenish color. His confidence rising with the success, Dib put the next needle in the base of the left antenna. The appendage jerked. Obviously, a pressure-sensitive spot had been hit. This time, the needle started to fill with bright crimson.

And then, Dib received a low-voltage electric shock. He yelped, starting back. His hand twitched, dropping the sample. Swatting at the stinging spot, Dib found that one of Zim's spider legs had unfolded from the PAK and pricked his arm. Now, the artificial limb hovered like an aggressive snake. Its pointy end seemed to stare at Dib's face, daring him to try and prick again. Another limb started to extract itself, uncurling as if waking from sleep.

'Dib-thing don't sting Zim...Zim,' mumbled Zim reproachfully. His left antenna twitched.

'But that's not fair! You didn't do this to Agent Thinpatience, did you? You didn't show him these spider things!' Dib started to splutter with anger. 'I'm sure you didn't, otherwise he'd not – you only do that to me - I – Zim! Zim, are you listening?'

No, he wasn't. Nobody ever listened to the Dib; falling asleep on him was just what a normal boy would do, but only an Irken – _this Irken _in particular - would do so with a vengeance.

Muttering something about having just finished anyway, Dib collected the two intact samples and, rubbing his numbed, aching arm, retreated to his desk. Once he'd begun his experiments on the probes the pain was quickly forgotten.

* * *

><p>+++End of Chapter 2+++<p> 


	3. Sugar, Cream and more Sugar!

Another weekend, another chapter...

Treycied and DontStealMyKitten: Thank you for your reviews; it's so motivating to know there are people "out there" waiting to read more. :)

***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Sugar, Cream and ... more Sugar!<p>

Early in the evening, Dib's computer displayed the first results of the analysis of the samples gained from Zim's body. Dib was pleased with the amount of information, but since he lacked Irken standard values there was no reliable way of interpreting the data. Dib programmed the computer to cross-reference with earth pharmaceutical listings and databases. He had already made an educated guess as to what had happened in the white tiled lab: _What had the paramedics seen as Zim was dragged in?_ A "boy" with a sickly hue, throwing some kind of tantrum, thrashing about and screaming abuse. They treated him accordingly, administering relaxants and sedatives to stop both, the "seizures" and the infernal noise. Of course, Zim had felt that he was under attack. And something within his system had reacted, releasing chemicals that countered the paramedics' efforts. So they tried something else. And again, Zim's internal defense mechanism kicked in...

'The war of Irken versus humankind has found a new battlefield,' Dib said, his voice boding with meaning. 'Your body, space boy.'

He paused. He just couldn't help himself. He added, 'You could've stopped making a fuss and simply told them you were feeling okay again, "thank you - good riddance". But _nooo_. You are Zim. You're a _genius_. You never take the simple way around the cesspool, if you can wade right through it. I wouldn't mind, but I have one question: If _that's_ the normal Irken mindset, then _why haven't you guys gone extinct by now?_'

Even as he ranted, Dib realized that he was on to something that concerned them both. He'd seen Zim in trouble, hurt and unconscious, before: The Irken's spaceship had crashed, sending the pilot through the front screen, knocking him out as he hit the ground. Another time, Zim had broken his back, hanging upside down from his garden fence. He'd been hit by rain, raw steaks, all kinds of food and violent ball games the kids played at skool. Dib had stood by and watched, sometimes taking down notes, sometimes hovering over the green boy's face to taunt him on awakening. It had been serious business, every single time. And it had also been a game. Dib now realized that he had always known – or at least most positively assumed - that Zim would recover and go on being a pain in his, Dib's, neck.

Dib wondered. _Was that, why he suddenly felt like he might actually start to care?_ You didn't die from stray footballs, and the rain – well, somehow it was hard to imagine that that would finish somebody off, even if they screamed and writhed and smoked.

But never, never before had Zim's features seemed so expressionless, so void of the mind that made them smirk or rant or frown, so - lost in sleep.

The computer finished printing new data. Dib was glad to have something to divert his attention and bring back the professional air. He looked at the datasheet and clucked his tongue. 'If this reading is equivalent to a human's blood sugar, we need to do something about your glucose level - and fast. I should've thought of that. Twenty-four hours of stress, without food or drink. You must be one hungry Irken by now.'

Zim, of course, did not comment. Dib reached over, shaking him gently. 'Zim? It's me, Dib. Listen, I want to get you something to eat. What do you want?'

_'nnthng.'_ Zim tried to end the unpleasant conversation by pressing his face into Dib's mattress.

Dib continued to shake Zim's shoulder. 'Come on, I know you feel terrible. This is going to require time. And food.'

Zim squinted. 'I'm still in your bed, Dib-stink?'

'Um, yes...?'

'Then you'd better not speak about – _bhlllwaark!_ – human food!' Groaning miserably, Zim curled up again. He clutched his midriff and in doing so, passed out again.

'I'm not talking about _human food_,' Dib said as if Zim could still hear him. Silently, he prayed for patience. 'I _have been able_ to pick up a thing or two about Irken metabolism, you know. _Of course,_ I'll get you some stuff your squeedly spooch can process. _And you are going to ingest it, space boy,_ if I have to spoonfeed you!'

He had not meant it as a threat. But he knew that it had sounded like one. It even might become one.

Zim _had_ vexed him more often than not, and his patience _was_ wearing thin.

* * *

><p>By the time Dib reached Zim's base it was almost dark. He stood under a streetlight, hollering and waving at the robot he knew to be in the house. The blue reflections of the TV screen flickered through the bolted windows. In the distance a silly rhyme was sung by silly cartoon voices.<p>

'It's no use,' Dib told himself. 'He won't come out.'

_He likes music. He likes silly figures dancing to silly nursery songs!_

_Come on, Dib. You know, what to do!_

Dib groaned, burying his face in his hands. Then he picked up the beat of the ditty, put on a crazy grin and started to tap-dance madly in the pool of light.

The door of Zim's house burst open. Zim's robot, clad in its green dog outfit, stood on the threshold, bobbing up and down and clapping its hands in delight: 'You's are dancing! Me's dancing, too!'

'Er...GIR? GIR is it, right?' Dib stopped, wiping his brow. 'Can I come over? I need to talk to you!'

_'Daaance!_' the robot demanded.

'Yes, er...okay.' Dib resumed his exercise. 'Dub-dee-dub-dee-dubbety_-what about the gnomes-_dubbety-dub? Won't they fire at me, dub-dee-duh?'

'Not if you dance!' GIR screamed.

Dib danced his way up to the bizarre green house. Miraculously, the lawn gnomes did not move as he jived and waltzed and tap-danced past them. He made a mental note to repeat the experiment later.

'Master's not in,' GIR informed him, as Dib reached the doorstep.

Dib nodded, a little winded. 'I know. Your master is over at my house and - '

The robot started running in circles, screaming: 'YAAAYY! Pyjama-party!'

'Um. Yeah. – Listen, I need to get something to eat for Zim.'

'Pyjama-' GIR rose onto his tiptoes and yelled in Dib's ear. _'Paaarty!'_

'For the party,' Dib agreed, sticking his pinkie in his ear and trying to get rid of the beeping sound. 'Is the kitchen over there?'

GIR skipped ahead, singing to himself and swinging his arms. Dib followed him to a giant fridge.

It was so ludicrously oversized for a household of two, it simply had to be a fake. Another requisite in Zim's ongoing effort to create and keep up an appearance of normality.

But was plugged in and turned on.

And the stuff inside was – familiar.

Tacos. Burritos. Stuff to make more tacos. And burritos. Waffles. Whip cream. Waffles and whip cream. Smoothies and slushies by the dozen, flavored strawberry, stracciatella, caramel, chocolate.

'No wonder Zim is always so hyped up.' Dib held a cup and checked the ingredients. 'This is basically sugar, cream and... more sugar.'

Dib grabbed the cups and flung them into a plastic bag, which he had brought for that purpose. He had no idea how much Zim would need, so he took them all.

GIR flipped open the upper part of his head and, hollering a great demand for 'Burrrrritooos!', started packing his own supplies for the "party".

As Dib left the base, the robot skipped and danced after him.

* * *

><p>On returning to his room, Dib found everything just as he had left it. The computer was busy, its screens protected with passwords Dib had hurriedly come up with. He still did not entirely trust Zim to be as helpless as appearances wanted him to believe, and this research was a paranormal investigator's dream come true.<p>

But the crumpled little alien had not so much as twitched an antenna.

Dib arranged the slushies on the bedside table and set to the task of waking his patient up. It took a certain amount of slapping and some shouting to get Zim to notice Dib's presence. Eventually, Zim turned his head away from the nuisance and mumbled something under his breath. Dib held a slushie in front of Zim's face and waved his hand, fanning the chocolate smell in his direction.

Zim's antennae quavered and perked up slightly.

Dib waved the slushie in front of the strange limbs. 'Zim? Zim? That's a good Irken, just waggle your appendages over here!'

Zim's cross-eyed glance searched for and fell on the cup.

'Slushie,' he breathed.

'Well observed, Zim. It's a slushie. Can you sit up and - _hey! Easy!_'

'Give Zim!' the alien demanded, going for the drink with both hands. 'Give to Zim! Zim NEEEED!'

Dib jumped back and lifted the cup out of reach. 'Gee, you _are_ thirsty, aren't you, Zim?'

Zim clutched the edge of the bed and strained to reach the denied cup. 'Thursday?_ Nooo._ Feed to Zim NOW!'

'I promised, I would. Didn't I?' Dib sighed. 'Let's give it a try, shall we?'

He sat on the edge of the mattress, holding the cup away from Zim. As expected, Zim immediately reached for it, leaning on Dib's leg. Dib grabbed him, turned him over and propped him up against his shoulder. The boy grunted a little with the effort, but Zim seemed too perplexed to put up a struggle.

Dib used his chance to work the slushie cup between the zipper teeth. The Irken gave a surprised sound, then accepted it.

_This is easier than I expected_, Dib thought triumphantly. _Now, go slowly. Tilt the cup, make some slushie go into him..._

Zim gagged.

Dib tried again.

Zim appeared to choke.

Dib adjusted their position. But the attempt to force the sticky liquid down into Zim's squeedly spooch merely triggered another fit of spluttering and coughing.

'Sorry. I give up.' Disappointed, Dib shook his head and put the slushie down. 'A human might have the reflexes and drink in his sleep. Your species obviously don't.'

'Yes, they do,' crowed GIR.

Dib stared, as Zim's robot joined him on the bed. GIR had kept himself busy practising cool dance moves in the far corner and using Dib's surveillance cameras to film himself from different angles. Dib had completely forgotten about the robot, but now he look at it with hope rekindled: 'You know something that will - er, _excuse me_?' Dib blinked as GIR leaned over and pressed his metal lips on Zim's mouth.

GIR looked up. 'It's first aid, you fool-ie – whoopee – doodie! YAAAY!'

And he continued to do what, to Dib, looked strangely out of place, not only at this crucial moment, but, well, _had he missed something_?

When GIR lifted his head, Dib saw that the robot had wrapped its tongue around Zim's, pulling it out, pulling it tight. It was wormlike and wiry, and it was probably long enough for Zim to catch cattle with it, should he discover a passion for ranching.

'That's an Irken tongue?' Dib slapped his forehead. 'It's begging to be swallowed even on one of Zim's more collected days. We need to get it out of the way.'

'It eefth now,' GIR reminded him. 'It'th firth aithe!'

First aid, a whim, an unexpected lucid moment on the robot's part - Dib didn't care. He grabbed the slushie and carefully tilted Zim's head. This time, the drink went down smoothly. Dib silently counted to ten, then let a second cup follow. Counting again, and then a third. In the midst of feeding Zim the fourth slushie, the Irken tried to pull his tongue in.

Dib paused, measuring Zim's slim body with his eyes.

'Mwaah?' GIR asked, his tongue still intertwined with Zim's despite his master's vigorous attempts to free it.

'No,' Dib decided and put the fourth slushie down. 'Not unless he asks for it.'

GIR let go of Zim's tongue, which, quickly and snake-like, curled back into its cavity. As Dib moved to lay Zim down, Zim's eyes opened just wide enough to let the fake blue irises show. They moved to the left and up, groggily meeting Dib's glance.

'Zim?' Dib leaned forward, excited. Did the slushies, liquid and sugar, take effect so quickly? 'Zim, do you hear me? We've given you something to drink. Slushies, from your own fridge, so it should be okay. _You_ should be okay. Are you still thirsty? Do you want more?'

'Zim slushied all right,' slurred Zim, laying a hand on his stomach. 'Zim no more _thursday_ Tuesday.'

'Oookay,' Dib said. 'So you _are_ full. I already thought as much. And you're missing a day. Which is not really a surprise, either.' He climbed off the bed and began to gather the left-over slushies and empty cups. 'This is a strange situation. Usually, when I start talking, you point your finger and yell insults at me. Jump on some table, too.' He looked around for more waste to collect. 'You're so much easier to be around, when you're asleep. But maybe Gaz is right and I should rather say - '

Zims eyes snapped open. He jumped to his feet, pointed his finger and, mouth gaping widely, accusingly yelled, 'LIES!' on top of his lungs and, 'IRKENS DON'T SLEEP!'

And he collapsed, untroubled by the crashing and splashing of slushie cups.

'_...s-sorry?_' Dib said, his face white with shock.

Then he looked about, taking in the mess on the floor. He held out his arms before him.

_Drip. Drip._

Sticky and sweet; this trench coat had become a "drenched coat" and was quite ruined. Dib glowered.

'Forget what I said before, Zim! I can't stand you, no matter what state you're in!'

GIR started running in circles, laughing and kicking an empty cup around.

* * *

><p>The next half hour Dib spent cleaning away the mess and checking his computer. The analysis was still in progress. Dib really turned the samples of Zim's fluids inside out. He wished he could extract more – maybe even obtain an itsy-bitsy scrap of Zim's tissue.<p>

But his most recent experience with Zim's bionic limbs restrained him. As much as Dib was vexed at himself, he had to admit that it was not a matter of squeamishness. Those spider legs seemed to have a will of their own, acting to protect their owner, whether Zim was aware of it or not. Unless Dib found a way to disable them, he'd better make a point of demonstrating his harmlessness.

The more, since he saw no alternatives to spending the night in the same room with Zim. Or rather - of all his alternatives, it was the only one that left him with at least one half mattress and _only_ an alien's self-defense system to heed. He really didn't need another run-in with Tak's spaceship or his father's latest inventions. And only the creatures of the night knew, what happened in Gaz' room while darkness ruled the sleeping city.

Zim, on the other hand, seemed like an acceptable neighbour. Being filled to the brim not only with narcotics but also with food, the little alien was pretty near comatose - in a happy way. He lay in his corner, his arms and legs arranged protectively over his squeedly spooch, looking quite dead, except for the faintest trace of a smile and an occasional hiccup.

Dib leaned closer. 'Zim? Zim, it's me, Dib Membrane. I broke into your base and took photos of everything.'

Silence.

Dib raised his voice. 'They'll be printed by each and every scientific magazine. When I'm done with you, they'll put you in a test tube, filled with goo. How would you like _that_, space scum?'

Zim's already slack antennae relaxed a little more. He smiled in his sleep, revealing the upper row of pearly white teeth. Obviously, for an Irken, the idea of test tubes was not necessarily connected with unpleasant images only.

Dib changed his voice to sound deep and commanding. 'Irken invader! State your name and your mission!' He waited, then rapped his knuckles on the PAK. 'Hello-oh? Zim? Is anybody home? That was the perfect cue for your favorite catchphrase.'

Silence.

Dib crawled onto his side of the bed and tucked himself in. Burrowing into his pillow, he reached over and turned off his bedside lamp.

'Good night, Zim,' he said.

Silence, deep and glorious...

Dib sighed and had already started to drift off to sleep, when Zim's voice came out of the dark. Dib instantly went on red alert, sitting up and groping for his glasses. Then he sat, listening.

'Sssim...right, thass' I,' Zim slurred peacefully. 'I'm Zim, me is, destroy Dib-stink-planet Doomsday, no _thursday_, nooo...'

'Boy, Zim, your sense of time really _is_ messed up. As is your grammar.' Shaking his head, Dib laid down again. 'But at least you seem to have pleasant dreams...'

And he went to sleep.

* * *

><p>*End of Chapter 3 *<p> 


	4. The Gate to Victory

Hi, everbody. I was so happy to get so many reviews for the last chapter. Thank you, everyone! It was good to learn that you like the story, and a big motivation. Take this chapter - it grew and grew until it had taken up my entire Sunday afternoon to finish. :)

So far, Zim has not had too much dialogue. This is going to change. :)

***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: The Gate to Victory<p>

Dib awoke the next morning, glad to find no metal spider-legs piercing his heart or lungs. Zim was asleep in his corner of the mattress, as he'd been all night, and GIR was watching cartoons on Dib's computer screen.

'How did you get past my passwords?' asked Dib, sitting up.

'I cracked them,' said GIR. 'Peanuts?'

The top of his skull opened, spilling peanuts. Dib wondered if GIR meant it to be a comment on the quality of Dib's security precautions, but he passed the thought as too far-fetched even for a piece of Irken technology.

'No, thank you,' he said. 'But breakfast might be a good idea. Could you go and get your master another slushie from the fridge?'

'I want a slushie, too,' said GIR.

'In the fridge,' said Dib, feeling that he could afford being generous with Zim's supplies. 'Help yourself. Take your time. Then come back, help me feed your master.'

The robot disappeared, trailing peanuts.

Dib slid off the bed and checked his computers. He was relieved to find that GIR had not touched anything but the password protection. He wanted to watch his favorite early morning cartoon shows and succeeded, nothing more.

In the background the computer had finished the analysis of Zim's blood samples. Dib stared at the results.

'Prove has been furnished,' he murmured. 'Finally! I've got you now, Zim.' He looked over at the bed. 'I mean, I have you _even more_ than I already have you right now.'

He was in the midst of producing a data backup, when Gaz entered.

'That crazy robot is in the kitchen,' she said.

'Oh, yeah. Getting breakfast for Zim.' Dib was not really listening. 'Gaz, you've gotta see this.'

'So he told me,' Gaz said, passing over Dib's enthusiastic invitation. She put a big, square cardboard box in the middle of the room.

Dib flinched from the illustration of a grotesquely smiling baby.

'You make him eat, you gotta get him to the bathroom once in a while,' Gaz said, unfazed, and pointed at her "gift". 'Or you use these.'

Dib almost shrank into his computer screen. _'I'm not putting diapers on him!'_

Gaz shrugged.

Dib turned to Zim, shaking him until the alien opened his eyes.

'Hhmmm?'

'Zim? It's me, Dib. It's morning and you're still alive. Chances are that you find especially the latter hard to believe. But I've got evidence, so just trust me on that. Do you need to go to the bathroom?'

'Hah-hhmmm?' Zim creased his brow, stuck out his jaw and dabbed his finger at his lower lip. He continued to watch Dib suspiciously out of the corner of his eyes. Dib wondered, if the alien pondered the answer to the question or the meaning of the question itself.

'English,' he said, exasperated. 'The language you're trying to access is _English_.'

'Hhmm – course,' said Zim, starting to nod eagerly. His antennae bobbed. 'Of course. Of course, I need to go to the bathroom, Zim does!'

Now it was Dib's turn to narrow his eyes with distrust. 'Are you sure? You're sounding a bit strained. Like you're staging your show, "Oh, I'm normal, I'm a boy!" '

'But Zim IS,' yelled Zim. 'I am a normal being, a yummy – hyumi – hyuman being. The bathroom! _Take me to the bathroom!_'

Zim was not yet able to walk and busy clinging to consciousness, so Dib carried him downstairs. 'We do have a bathroom first floor', he explained. 'But, uh, we cannot use it right now. I need to figure out how to ban the Imp of Obsessional Washing, first. He hides in the drains, stealing our soap and scrubbing his hands. He's got about three dozen of hands, big hands, small hands – when he's done, he starts all over again. I would not like the two of you to run into each other. He dislikes being called "filthy" and "stinking", I wager.'

'Hhm? Aha - ah, great,' said Zim without enthusiasm.

_Well, at least he's still with me,_ Dib thought. He set Zim down in front of the door. 'There. I'll, um, just wait outside, then. Don't lock yourself in.'

Of course the warning was lost on the Irken. Dib heard the clicking sound as soon as Zim had entered, and he sighed. _He really should have known!_

Zim, on the other hand, had learned his lessons well. There were three things to observe in the human routine of bathroom-using: Privacy. Paper. Pouring water down pipes.

Dib heard the flush and decided that he would not question the necessities of Irken metabolism any further. Let Zim keep his secrets. Bathroom secrets, at any rate.

He had other things to worry about: Zim did not come out again.

He waited, then called, 'Zim? Are you all right in there?'

'My Master flushed himself to get to the secret lab,' GIR said sadly.

Dib hadn't noticed the little robot, but now he whipped around. 'Say what?'

'What. Whaaat. Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat – wha-haat!'

Dib instisted. 'Are we talking about this oddly misplaced thing in your kitchen? The oddly misplaced. Toilet. Flush.' Dib paused. Then he tackled the door, pounding his fist against the wood. 'Zim? This is not the time for bad jokes! Open that door! Now, Zim!'

_Calm down_, Dib told himself. _Calm down and think!_

_Zim cannot have tried and flushed himself down the drain! It's a real toilet. It's got water in there! _

_Yeah, and make no mistake – Zim may seem more lucid than he was last night. But he's still got a jolly mix and amount of painkillers at work in his green body. The water might pick his bones clean, turning him into a grinning skeleton to dance on your grave, and he'd never even feel it._

Dib leaned against the door. He did not even find the words to express the dislike, mingled with exasperation, he felt right now – and Gaz did not bother to express hers as she approached to use the bathroom. She merely raised her eyebrows, reaching out her hand to push the door open.

Dib looked up. 'Gaz! You cannot go in there. Zim has locked himself in. - Probably flushed himself,' he added.

'I bet that hurt', Gaz said grimly, testing the door and finding it locked. 'But it's nothing compared to what I'll give him, if he got stuck in the drain.'

'My BUSINESS is finished!' Zim's voice boomed from inside the bathroom.

'He's alive,' Dib heaved a sigh. 'Zim? What are you waiting for? Come out.'

'Computeeer,' commanded Zim. 'Open that door!'

'It's not computerized,' Dib called.

'Computeeer!' Zim repeated. An unmistakable edge of impatience crept into his voice. 'Open that door! Let Zim out!'

'I told you! You have to let yourself out!' Out of the corner of his eyes Dib saw dark clouds gather on Gaz' forehead.

Thumping noises came from inside the bathroom: Zim seemed to be kicking at the door. 'Stupid Earth door! You will obeeey ZIM and open! Open this instant! Nothing made by human filth can hold back ZIIIIM!'

But it could, and quite effective at that.

'Gaz,' Dib pleaded with his sister, 'Please, don't kill him! I've been through such a lot of pain nursing him back to where he is now!'

'And just where is he?' asked Gaz, looking the door up and down. It shook, but it held fast. 'Except for the obvious, I mean?'

'Still away with the fairies.' Dib waved his hand in front of his face to emphasize his assessment of Zim's mental state. 'Whatever fairy there is that would date an Irken.'

'This one seems persistent enough. But your pathetic imagery gives me an idea.' Gaz drew a deep breath, full of anger and disdain, then called, 'Zim? Shut up and listen: This is not an ordinary door!'

Dib started. 'What? But -?'

Zim shut up, listening.

Gaz said, 'It's The Gate to Doom and Victory! It's yours to open!'

The noise inside the bathroom had ceased completely. Dib could almost see the Irken scratching his green chin with his left hand. Zim always did that when he came across something new and promising.

Yet, the silence continued...adopting an air of embarassment and consternation...

'Come on, Zim,' called Dib. 'An Irken genius like you surely can't have forgotten how to handle a door?'

'Aw, Dib!' Gaz rolled her eyes, before calling out. 'Zim? You see the shining knob? On the left?'

'Shining,' confirmed Zim, fully focussed on the task ahead. 'Left.'

'Grab the knob, Zim! Turn it to the right!'

Soft scraping noises told them that Zim was following Gaz's instructions. Dib couldn't quite grasp what was going on. 'Gaz? Why are you being so helpful?'

'I know how he feels,' Gaz said, fixedly staring at the door. 'I feel the same, each time a new Game Slave is released. And besides - ' She contorted her face until her eyes and nose and puckered mouth seemed to spiral into each other and all of them into some black hole in the center of her face. 'I. Need. To. Pee!'

The door crashed open. Zim stood in the frame, both arms raised to form a triumphant "V". 'I GOT IT! Victory for ZIIIM! My BUSINESS is - '

'MY business with you has not yet begun,' spat Gaz. She lunged forward, shoved Zim out of her way and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her. Dib sidestepped as Zim staggered against the wall next to him. Dib instantly saw what had kept him so long: The Irken had peeled off his contacts. His red eyes looked inflamed with tiny scratches running in all directions.

Dib sat down next to Zim. He put his arms around his knees. He didn't need to turn his head to know that Zim was looking at him.

'Er... that stuff about a Gate to Irken Victory? That wasn't exactly the truth, was it?' Zim asked dully.

Dib continued to stare at the bathroom door. No point in trying to tell Zim that no one had mentioned _Irken_ victory in particular. 'What did you think? That the Membrane household sheltered a Gate to the Conquest of Humankind?' He looked at Zim. 'What happened to your contacts, anyway? Gee, your eyes look like you sandblastered them. That must hurt.'

Zim only stared at him blankly.

_No pain. Of course._

There was probably no use questioning him about the where-abouts of his wig. Tousled and donned without a mirror, it had recently sat like a dead mongrel on his head, anyway.

Dib sighed, getting to his feet. 'Come on, let's get you back to bed.'

Zim began to move towards the stairs. But his legs would not support him. Furrowing his brow, he activated his spider legs. They lifted him off the ground, but the whole affair seemed dangerously wobbly and off-balance. Dib dove for cover as Zim clenched his teeth and stubbornly tried to move forward. But he could not bring the legs to step in time with each other. He tumbled against the wall, two times, three times; then he gave up and let himself drop to the ground.

'As I see it, you have two choices,' Dib said helpfully. 'You can crawl up there on your hands and knees. Or you can let me carry you for what will hopefully be the last time.'

'Dib-human carry,' Zim decided and allowed himself to be picked up. His arms came sliding around Dib's neck, as his knees closed on Dib's ribcage in a vise-like grip.

'Hey! Stop digging your heels in my flanks. I'm not a mule.' Dib halted. 'Somehow, I get the feeling, you're enjoying this!'

It was a cue, he realized, and the wrong one. Zim's body went rigid. His fingers dug into Dib's neck. The boy yelped.

'Enjoyyy!', Zim hissed. 'Yes, Zim enjoys resting in fluffy, soft place of the Dib-stink! The Dib has had his fun earlier! Oh, what fun it was! Funny-funny fun!'

'Stop it!' demanded Dib. He tried to turn, but of course he could not twist his body enough to face the Irken on his back.

Zim held on, kicking and screaming. 'Did you laugh, Dib-scum? Did you laugh your big, square head off?'

'Stop it! Or I'll drop you!' But it was no longer his decision, Dib realized. The Irken was holding on with the strength of his temper – and his fury was boiling up quickly. ''_Normal boys drink normal drinks.' You said that! You poisoned me!_'

'I didn't force you to drink that apple juice,' Dib defended himself. 'And just so you know - my analysis showed clearly that you'd have gone into insulin shock without that extra dose of sugar. Your body's attempts to cope with the overdose of sedatives used up nearly all your supplies.'

'And is it normal, Dib-stink?' yelled Zim. 'Does it seem normal to you, that Zim not be – Zim, and need to be carried by an Earth-worm, after he was filled up with ... stuff like Zim was? Tell me! Tell Zim!' His hand appeared right in front of Dib's face. Dib flinched. The black-clad fingers flexed and opened, flexed and opened. But they also trembled. 'To shut down and be sick and think strange things and feel – unfeeling feelings everywhere, in your head, in your arms, in your legs, all numb, is it normal? Is it?'

Now, even Zim's voice trembled.

'Zim?' asked Dib. 'Are you all right? I mean – this isn't some kind of belated nervous breakdown because of what happened to you, is it?'

'Shut it,' howled Zim. 'Shutitshutitshutit, your filthy voice is sickening me!' He seemed to be looking about, clutching his squeedly spooch with one hand. 'And this bed is sickening me, and this room, and this stinking city of humans, and their lousy stinking planet with the white tiled places, oh, white tiled places are sickening me, _and is it normal, tell me, Dib-stink, is it? Is it?_'

'Snap out of it, Zim!' Dib reached over his shoulder, seized one of Zim's antennae and gave it a sharp tug. The alien yelped, grabbing for his head. Dib used the chance, when Zim's grip had loosened, and let his burden slide onto the bed. Zim glowered up at him, continuing to whisper, 'Is it? Is it?'

'Yes, Zim,' Dib said quietly. 'Yes. I guess, it's perfectly normal...now, calm down, you shouldn't - '

He stopped, when he found the Irken sitting perfectly still, staring at him. And then -

'EXCELLENT!' shrieked Zim, raising both fist up. 'Prove has been furnished, let the world heeear, let all the world hear!' On hands and knees he scrambled to the small round window, pulled himself up and pushed it open. 'I am ZIM! I am NORMAL! The Dib-stink has admitted it! Victory! Victory for ZIIIM!'

'Zim! Zim! Get back in!' Dib clutched Zim's legs and hung on to keep Zim from falling out of the window. 'I did not admit anything!'

Zim stopped waving wildly at the neighbourhood and turned.

'Yes, you did,' he told Dib, nodding.

'No, I – well, maybe, but - ' Dib thought about pushing the Irken through the window even as he helped him crawl back to safe ground. 'No, don't tell me: That wasn't some kind of nervous fit right now. You just flew off the handle once again.'

'No, it's true,' said Zim, for once accepting Dib's hands on his shoulders. 'I really feel sick. All about your stinking world is sickening me. But this time it's worse, because - '

'Hey,' said a voice from the street. 'Isn't that Zim in the crazy Dib's house?'

Dib froze. The skool bus was standing at the curbstone. The kids were looking over.

'Yes, and there's Dib, too,' said a boy, pointing his finger.

'Didn't he use to hate Zim?'

'Now they seem to be friends.'

'A pity. I almost believed his story, you know, the one about Zim being an alien...'

'But he is,' screamed Dib, breathless. Now it was his turn to wave his arms wildly in order to emphasize his statement. Zim slipped past him and disappeared somewhere. 'He is an alien, I tell you! He is - '

'You,' the bus driver cut in, 'are late! Hurry up, boyz!'

'Dib!' screamed Gaz from downstairs. 'Get a move on!'

'Coming!' Dib looked about hectically. _Books, computer, screens, passwords, Zim... _'Just let me – the discs – the backups – I – _aargh_ – out of time – '

_Zim?_

Dib's gaze darted to the bed. The alien had fallen asleep again, right in the act of abducting Dib's pillow.

'You', said Dib, flabbergasted, watching as the sleeping Irken body moved across the mattress and wedged its precious PAK in the far corner, 'are such an incredible - ', he paused again, looking for the word, 'incredible - '

Zim, looking for a comfortable position, wrapped himself around Dib's pillow, arms, legs and antennae. He snuggled down, muttering something that was not English. Yet, Dib caught the word 'Zim' easily enough.

'Right', Dib said softly. 'You are Zim. I guess, that says it all.'

He grabbed his books and backpack and ran off to skool.

* * *

><p>Five minutes after Dib had left, Zim woke with a start. <em>'Analysis? <em>What analysis, Dib-worm?'

He opened his eyes. GIR stood in front of the bed, dripping with something sticky and sweet smelling.

'You _scared_ me!' the little robot complained.

Zim did not listen to him. He clearly remembered Dib talking about ... _the computer! It was busy!_

Zim glowered. 'He'll have passwords...'

'Yes, he does!' GIR opened the top of his head. _'Peanuts!'_

'No, GIR, not now, I - ' Zim stopped, then turned slowly. Being stuck in a light-headed, half-dreaming state, it was easy to put two and two together and arrange the result in an imaginative, new way. 'Say, GIR, are you trying to tell me something? About the quality of the Dib-worm's security precautions?'

GIR seemed surprised like someone stranded on a far away planet, who suddenly hears an alien speaking English.

'They are peanuts. You want peanuts?' he asked, slowly.

Zim's eyes glowed. He nodded. It was worth a try.

'Yes. Yes, I'd like peanuts. I'd like them very much! _Give me peanuts!_'

* * *

><p>*End of chapter 4*<p> 


	5. Irken Mindset

Hi, everybody. Thanks for reviewing (and what nice reviews I got! I'm so glad I have so many readers who enjoy this story!) and for your patience. Originally, I planned to make this two (short) chapters, but since I kept you waiting I decided to upload _en bloc_. :)

***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Irken Mindset<p>

Zim awoke some time past noon, feeling surprised. The booting routine should not involve that much moaning, and blinking, and flopping back weakly, followed by clutching in turn his head, antennae and squeedly spooch. In fact, it should not involve any physical reactions at all. Yet he went through them all and then, still feeling giddy and sick, started the moaning-and-clutching part all over.

His face pressed against something very smooth and solid. His PAK advised him to lift his head to find out what it was.

His organic brain told him that he couldn't lift his head. _Mmm-mmh, no way._ Impossible. His face was glued to the smooth and solid thing, his head too heavy and large to –

_Large head?_

_The Dib!_

A vague memory flickered up. Zim knew that he should leap to his feet and recommence his glorious battle for Irken dominance over his adversary.

Problem was, his feet weren't connected to the ground. They dangled. His PAK was analyzing desperately.

Meanwhile, his organic brain announced that it was bloated and going to explode, and his squeedly spooch kindly informed him that, whatever his body's spatial coordinates, it had already made up its mind to be upside down.

Zim groaned and moved, gingerly holding his head. He sensed the absence of support beneath him just in time to flail and grab hold of something. It turned out to be a backrest. He was sitting on a chair and slumped over Dib's desk. The computer screen was on. Zim remembered something about - something about pulses. No, _peanuts_. The word was 'peanuts'.

GIR, who had brought it up, had lost interest as soon as he found out that his master's efforts were not about watching cartoon shows. Zim could not recall exactly what they had tried to do. He only knew that GIR had played a vital part in his plan.

Thinking of GIR... where was the robot, anyway?

Where was _anybody_?

Zim looked around Dib's room. He discovered slushies on a bedside table, three of them, lined up neatly. Zim felt a little shaky as he climbed off the chair. He clung to the desk, giving his sense of 'up' and 'down' time to re-adjust. Then he focused on falling in the right direction to grab hold of the bed post. Checking the slushies, he chose the one smelling the most overpowering of marzipan. It was luke-warm, and sticky, and disgusting.

It would serve its purpose well.

Now to get to the 'bathroom'... Zim held on to the doorframe, peering down the steep staircase. He decided to opt for speed.

He picked up more than enough of that as he tripped and crashed down the stairs, screaming and wailing all the way down, whilst holding up the slushie to keep it from spilling.

The bathroom door was ajar. Zim entered and headed straight for the pillbox, he'd spotted on a shelf at his first visit to this room. The packing featured the picture of a stylized insect that was happily rubbing its mid-section with four equally stylized hands, praising the beneficial effects of "Ant-Acid" on an upset stomach. Of course, the pills would not help Zim in the way they helped with humans. Yet, he could use them in his own, Irken fashion. His spider legs lifted him off the ground and toward the shelf.

_Why was it still so difficult to stand on these things?_

Zim managed to grab the box just in time, before he over-balanced and, giving a distressed scream, toppled over and into the bath tub. He possessed the presence of mind to draw in his mechanical limbs, thus preventing them from splintering. But, his organic brain being hungover and his PAK's main processor occupied with holding the slushie cup top side up, no matter the body's somersault, he could not break his fall and nearly knocked himself out. Lying on his PAK, slushie-holding hand sticking up as if in salute, Zim watched the world through half-lidded eyes, watched it fade to shadows once more. He thought that he heard a faint sound, but it might be himself, moaning.

A particularly large shadow moved and spoke to him. 'Hello boy,'a vaguely familiar voice said. 'You must be one of my son's little friends?'

Zim forced his eyes to focus: The bespectacled face of Dib's father, Professor Membrane, hovered beyond the undamaged slushie like a strange halo. Zim's PAK released adrenaline into his blood stream, jerking him fully awake. Why had he assumed that, with the Dib gone, he was alone in the stinking humans' house? Why had he not locked the door?

Why was he wasting precious time, thinking about past blunders, when he was trapped in a hygienic device meant for _soaking_ oneself in _water_?

Frantically, Zim began looking for a way out of the bathtub.

'Your eyes are all swollen and red,' Professor Membrane said conversationally.

Zim checked with his hands and nearly freaked out: _He had lost his disguise! The Dib had taken his wig and contact lenses!_

'A disease! It's a disease!' Zim scrambled to his feet and up the side of the bathtub. The slippery surface thwarted his already impaired sense of balance. He slipped and braced himself - but he did not hit the ground. The human had reached out and closed his hand around Zim's arm, holding him. It was then that Zim noticed that one of his gloves was missing, too. His antennae started to perk up in a flash of anger, and he barely controlled the impulse. He knew, he still had a chance to get away from this safely, if he kept his nerves. _But the Dib! What did the Dib think, he was doing?_

Professor Membrane had obviously meant to pull the 'boy' out of his predicament. But the nimble Irken quickly scrambled up and over the side of the bathtub all on his own. Professor Membrane took the pillbox out of the bathtub.

'Is this the explanation for your sick looks, boy? Blood-shot eyes, green hue? Have you been partying?' he asked and shook his head sadly. 'My poor crazy son. He should spend more time having fun with his friends.'

'Mmmh, yeah,' Zim agreed, seething with anger. He checked first the slushie then his body for damages. 'He should really find himself another hobby.'

Professor Membrane opened the box and took a tumbler from a shelf above the sink. It was pale blue and labeled 'SON', whereas there was another, pink one, marked 'DAUGHTER'. 'So why is Dib at skool, when you are not?'

The answer was obvious, even for an alien of Irken temper struggling to regain his composure. 'I'm sick. From, er, partying.'

'That can be cured. Whereas my son...' Sorrowful, Professor Membrane continued to shake his head, as he prepared to dissolve two pills. 'My poor, deranged son...'

Zim cringed. 'Uh – Dib's Dad, could you use this instead of – _bwah_ - water?'

Professor Membrane eyed the cup suspiciously. 'A soft drink?'

'A slushie,' Zim explained and then added, 'It's marzipan flavor', as if that explained all.

'Are you trying to fight sickness or to induce it?' Professor Membrane scratched his head with a rubber gloved hand. 'However, you might have a point there. It is said - ' He paused for emphasis, as he filled the slushie into the tumbler and dropped the "Ant-Acid" pills in. 'Fire is best fought with fire.'

Professor Membrane took Dib's toothbrush, turned it upside down and stirred with the handle.

'I've made fires,' Zim said thoughtfully, accepting the tumbler and watching the foam rise. 'Really big ones. I considered them better that way.' He hung his head. 'But my Tallest thought, I'd made it worse.'

'That depends on what you meant to prove by starting the fires in the first place,' Professor Membrane said. 'Never interpret the results of an experiment, unless you've specified the question!'

'Exactly,' Zim agreed. His little Irken heart jumped: For the first time since the spectacular failure of Operation Impending Doom One his actions were genuinely questioned, not only scorned or laughed at. Overcome by sudden excitement, he took a sip of his dreadful concoction and grimaced at the horrible taste.

'Then what was your question?' Dib's father asked.

Zim thought about it for a moment. 'Er, I guess it was something like: How big can these fires possibly get?'

'Hhhm. Interesting one.'

'I used napalm,' Zim said modestly, nursing his drink.

'Very good. Hydrogen, too?'

'Some.'

Professor Membrane grabbed Zim by the shoulders. 'I believe, your fire was big!'

'Uh-huh.' Zim, too surprised to think of anything helpful, allowed himself to be clutched and shaken.

The Dib's father almost-whispered, 'Consumed the whole testing area.'

'Er...yeah, it did...'

Professor Membrane rose to full height and declared, 'You are a real scientist! Asking scientific questions, the answers to which might change the fate of mankind forever! I am glad, you are my son's friend! Is there anything I can get you? More Ant-Acid? More melted ice in marzipan flavored liquid, garnered with cream and sugar?'

'Yes. All of it. Give Zim!'

_I am going to be so very, very sick_, Zim thought happily, as he held out his empty tumbler for more.

* * *

><p>Dib came home from skool, dumped his bag and paid the kitchen a visit. Gaz was there, and GIR, too. They were busy with eggs and milk and some powdery substance that billowed and filled the air like sawdust. Gaz kept asking GIR for kitchen utensils – a spoon, a bowl, a mixer – which the robot would hurry to provide, zig-zagging across the kitchen, climbing on chairs, slamming doors, turning pots upside down and emptying drawers onto the floor.<p>

Dib didn't address them, and they took no notice of him.

He remotely wondered, whether the Irken would be able to feed himself today, since GIR was obviously busy, rolling on the floor in despair, screeching, 'Pancake Pan, where ARE you?'.

But as he ascended the stairs, he heard Zim talking in a coherent, even lecturing way, '...not impossible at all, if you tap directly into the planet's core. Of course, the energy output is not nearly comparable to that of the thermonuclear fusions going on inside a middle-sized sun. But it is so much easier to control. No protuberances. No electromagnetic particle eruptions and ionised storms ruining your instruments and distorting your readings, you know how it is.'

Dib froze as he heard his father's voice sigh and agree that, _yes, he knew_. 'But will not the planet's rising instability lead to severe disruption in the surface structure?'

Zim again, very calm, like one scientist talking to another, 'I told you: Recent studies are quite clear on that matter. It appears that if you quadruple the stress factor of feldspar by the factor of – oh, wait a minute: Earth does have sodium compounds in its hull structure, doesn't it?'

'Sodium is one of our planet's most common elements.'

'Hey! Great! Got to remember tha- '

Dib burst into his room. He found Zim sitting on the bed, comfortably propped against his - Dib's - pillow. Professor Membrane was sitting on a chair in front of the bed, taking down notes. Zim was holding Dib's tumbler that contained some foaming liquid. An empty pillbox and Dib's toothbrush lay next to him. Dib knew instantly he'd never, ever use the toothbrush again. Or the tumbler.

'Dad! What are you doing?' he demanded.

'I am having a scientific conversation with your little friend,' the professor said. 'He's got an interesting theory on how Earth's molten core might be put into scientific use as a source of inmeasurable energy. The power hereby produced would be more than sufficient to destroy humankind three times – but as a tool in our hands, it will serve to ensure our species' survival on this planet for another five billion years. Ah, the virtues of real science!'

Zim flashed a smile that was quick and sharp like the stab of a dagger. It made Dib's skin crawl. He grabbed the sheets and, without ceremony, pulled them over the alien's head. Zim started laughing, the nerveracking sound dampened only inadequately by the cloth around his head.

'You should go out and have some fun with friends every now and then, my son,' Professor Menbrane said. 'You do not behave like a normal teenager.'

Dib stopped fighting the wriggling bundle of sheets. A pained expression crept across his face. 'Dad! Don't you remember? I'm not yet a teenager!'

'Nor normal,' the sheets said. 'Listen to your Dad-thing, Dib-thing!'

'SHUT THE FU– fu – your foul mouth up!' Dib screamed, nudging the sheets with his knee.

'I am alienated by your strange behaviour, my son,' Professor Membrane remarked.

The sheets were rolling on the bed, screaming with laughter.

'YES, ALIENATED!' Dib yelled at them. 'It's a perfectly normal English word!'

A black-gloved, three-fingered hand poked out of the bundle. 'Dib-thing?' Zim lifted one finger, demanding attention.

'Yes?'

_'Bee-hayve!_ You really got me – _heee, heee_ – ALIENATED! Mmmwaaah-haah-ha-ha-ha!'

'Very funny, Zim!' Dib choked back angry tears and kicked the sheets again.

'Ouch!'

Dib growled. 'So, you're sensitive to pain again? We can put that into use right away...'

'Well, as you two are having a good time, I'll be off to work! My son?'

'Yes, Dad?'

Professor Membrane stooped, whispering aloud behind a conspirationally raised hand. 'Avoid talking about your – hm, paranormal topics. Your friend has a keen intellect and a mission of public benefit to fulfill, and I would not see him become compromised by your strange ideas!'

Zim went into hysterics.

'Sure, Dad.' Dib nodded, wanting his father gone before Zim snuffed out his 'keen intellect' by splitting his Irken sides.

When the Professor had left, Dib sat on the edge of the bed, resting his chin in his hands.

Eventually, Zim's laughter died down to giggles. He crawled out of the sheets and sat, using the back of his green hand to wipe tear fluid from his red eyes. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for Dib to say something that would allow him to go to pieces again.

Dib gave the alien a sideways glance. 'I take it, now you're not only drugged, but...Ant-Acided as well.'

'You have not the slighest clue as to my intentions,' Zim hissed. 'Yoouuu cannot possibly fathom the ingenuity of Zi - _hee_ – uh-oh...'

'The day I start getting your drifts I will know I've gone as crazy as they say.' Dib casually reached for his wastepaper basket. 'What's it to be? This? Or can you make it to the bathroom?'

'This!' The Irken lunged, eyes wide open, one hand in front of his mouth, the other grabbing for the basket. _'Give ZIIIIIM!_'

* * *

><p>Slushies. Ant-Acid. White foam, alreadly turning an alien-bile green.<p>

Dib's wastepaper basket received it all.

When Zim was done they were back at the start, with an exhausted alien shaking on Dib's bed.

Dib reached for his shoulder. 'Zim? How bad is it?'

'NO! Don't – touch!,' Zim wheezed. 'It'll – pass – be over – soon.'

'What on Earth made you act like the idiot that you are?' Dib shouted at him. 'You knew, you'd poison yourself! Even one pill would've been too much for this strange _squeezy spook_ of yours, and _you knew that_!'

Zim tried to stop himself from retching. 'Right now I know but one thing: You are getting on my nerves and I'm going to be sick again, so PASS ME THE BAAASKEET!'

'That's two things, and here it is!' Dib thrust the wastepaper basket at the alien and returned to moping. Ignoring Zim's gross occupation, he darkly stated, 'If you want to see me suffer, let me tell you: I've been doing nothing else, these past - '

'Oh, stop talking such nonsense!,'Zim informed him, putting down the basket and sitting back on the bed. 'I'll use more sophisticated designs to make you suffer, _oh, and what suffering it is going to be!_' He looked up and looked about. 'For now, I could use some food, though. But I think - '

'But – but the anaesthetics,' Dib managed to say, watching the alien's antennae twitching vividly. 'The sickness - the antacid - your squeedly spooch - '

'I told you, it would pass,' Zim said flatly. 'Hey, Dib-worm, I think - '

'Don't tell me - it processes poisons,' Dib said, flabbergasted, as recognition dawned on him. 'No – it filters them.'

'Yes, yes. Now, listen, I really think - '

'It turns them into an aqueous – into some sort of alkaline solution. And this solution you will eventually throw up.' Dib looked Zim up and down with renewed curiosity, as if he could watch and analyze the Irken's digestive processes with his unguarded eyes. 'An efficient way to neutralise almost any chemical compound and to get it out of your system. Like a kitten disgorging a hairball.'

A 'Got-a-problem-with-that,-Earth-scum?'-questionmark was clearly printed on Zim's face.

'You knew this would happen,' Dib said.

Zim cocked his head. 'Of course, I knew. Why wouldn't I?'

Dib thought that the answer was all the same to him. He was too tired to feel exasperated any longer. 'But what was this show all about, then? Why on Earth did you beg me to help you with the sickness?'

'LIES!' Zim yelled and continued in that casual tone of voice, that never failed to hoax unsuspecting persons like Dib's father into believing they were in the presence of another person with a decent mindset.

Zim was not decent. He was Irken and living and acting by his own species' logic. 'I didn't,' he went on. 'Beg you for anything, I mean. I only expressed my dislike of the feeling.'

'But for Heaven's sake, Zim, _why_? If you knew that it was just a side-effect of how your squeedly spooch worked? You _had_ to be sick! You _had_ to cleanse your system! That's how it works with your kind!'

Zim had turned to the door, face, eyes and antennae, 'Still, I don't have to LIKE it, do I? Listen, I think - '

'But - '

_'WILL YOU SHUT UP AND SMELL THAT?_ - I _think_,' Zim said, 'GIR's making waffles.'

* * *

><p>+End of Chapter 5+<p> 


	6. Run, Dibstink, Run!

***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: Run, Dib-stink, Run<p>

When Dib later remembered the five seconds following Zim's statement, they were nothing but a blur. He remembered tackling the Irken, trying to get at his big green head with both fists. Zim nimbly sidestepped the assault. A storm of metal, fingers, claws, broke loose about the human boy and raged for about three seconds.

Then everything was – silent.

Gingerly, Dib opened his eyes. He found that Zim had driven the sharp points of his artificial legs right through Dib's trench coat and into the bedposts. Dib was pinned with Zim's spider legs all around him. The alien definitely had too many limbs at his disposal. There was Irken all over Dib and – he realized as Zim flashed his shining teeth only three inches from his prisoner's nose – Irken might be drawing blood any time, and at leisure. The fact that Zim was successfully matching his own weight against Dib's shifting, struggling mass to keep them both in perfect equilibrum proved that he was completely back in control of his body.

'Now, what exactly do you think, you're doing?' hissed Dib.

'_I _was planning to eat some waffles,' Zim snarled. 'When _you_ freaked out!'

'Does that surprise you? After all you put me through these last three days?'

'Liar!' Zim yelled. 'It's Tuesday!'

'Thursday,' Dib corrected. 'Sorry, but your oh-so-superior inner clock is missing two days.'

'Liar!' Zim repeated. 'Dib-thief!'

'And just how would I steal _days?_ Even you should be aware of the fact that -'

Zim cut in, 'Where are my contact lenses?'

'You ask me? If I were to take a guess, I'd say you flushed them!'

'And my hair? Tell Zim! Where is my hair?' Zim screamed.

'Your wig, you mean?' Dib screamed back. 'You used it as a towel or worse...Gaz certainly did!'

'And my glove?'

Dib heaved a sigh. There was just no way of beating Zim for sheer volume. 'Let go of my arm, and I'll give it back to you!'

Reluctantly, Zim released Dib'd left arm. Even more reluctantly, Dib produced the black glove from a secret pocket in his trench coat. He fervently wished, he'd gotten down to conducting the tests he had had in mind for this particular piece of cloth. Not for the first time, he cursed the necessity to waste precious time listening to Mrs. Bitters speeches on how Doom was waiting for each and every one.

Zim snatched the glove from Dib's hand and, sitting back on the haunches of his spider legs, put an arm's length between them as he slipped the glove back on. Dib put his feet against the bedpost and tugged at his still immobilized right arm.

Thus, for some seconds, each of them went about his business, mumbling nasty words in his own native language.

His glove back on, Zim pulled his spider leg out of the bedpost. Dib's arm came free and the boy tumbled onto the bed. By the time he had sat up, Zim's artificial limbs were positioned to his left and right like banisters preventing him from falling off the bed.

Dib was unable to move very far - but so was Zim when it came down to it.

It was one of those 'So, what do we do now?' situations nobody really knows how to handle.

Dib was the first to break the silence.

'Zim, I don't know, how to put this,' he began. 'I mean, I've been thinking about how to say it for the last few days. But I didn't know, Agent Thinpatience would want your information for – for his own purposes.'

Zim's eyes narrowed. Now, they no longer looked blank and almost innocent. Now, partly covered by the drooping lids, they looked square. And, especially in combination with the slicked-back antennae, they looked malicious.

Dib felt pushed to make a point, and fast. 'I am trying to save the world, Zim. My world. But I don't plan to go out and conquer others just for the sake of – of conquest.'

'Hm,' Zim said, cocking his head.

'It would make me no better than you are. Morally, or something...'

'Hm.'

'What I am trying to say is – Zim? Are you listening?'

'Your head,' said Zim. 'I could have sworn, last night it was green. And bigger.'

'My head is not - ! Zim! For Goodness' sake!'

Zim grimaced. _'Yesss, Dib-thing. Much bigger!'_

'But that's completely beside the – darn it, Zim! Don't you see?' Dib drew a deep breath and screamed, 'This was – a _moment_! Maybe THE moment!'

'Er, yeah – and that's a moment, too.' Zim looked genuinely puzzled. 'And another one passing, as you try to pull out your filthy quiff. Er. Doesn't that hurt?'

'I KNOW that. I mean, yes, it – _aarrrgh_!' Dib tore at his scythe-like strand. 'Zim, you moron! I was trying to tell you something!'

'Me too,' Zim said, smoothly. 'Your head was terrifying. And green.'

Dib turned away and talked to the ceiling. 'Oh! Ohhh! I shoulda known! Of all the ingrates - '

'Of all brothers and their friends,' Gaz said, 'it had to be the two of you!'

No one had heard her coming. But she was standing in the door. Her dangling left hand held the inevitable Game Slave 2 console.

'Gaz!' Dib felt the blood rush into his face and started fighting the alien's artificial limbs. 'This is not what it looks like! Zim! Get your stilts off me!'

Zim retracted his spider legs, but he did not deactivate them altogether. He continued staring at the Dib-sister, whom he knew to be way more sinister and dangerous than the Dib himself.

'Do you know how long this infernal noise of yours has been going on?' Gaz asked.

'Funny you should mention the point - ,' Dib began, casting Zim a mean glance.

'No time has passed,' Zim said quickly. 'According to my PAK, it's Thursday. But I _know_, it's Tuesday, so we haven't been shouting at all.' He checked with his PAK again and frowned. 'Actually we shouldn't be home from skool yet.'

'And I tell you again, space monster, you have lost count!' Dib shouted.

'Impossible! Zim does not lose count!'

'Oh, Zim recently loses quite a lot of stuff,' Dib said acidly. 'Battles, consciousness, the knowledge of how to handle a bathroom door...'

'You are lying!' spat Zim.

'No, you've just decided to ignore the obvious and blame me instead!' Dib yelled. 'You're missing Wednesday, because you slept right through it! In, as I would like to point out , my bed! Nursed by me, fed by me - '

'LIIIIES!' Zim jumped to his feet, his spider legs trailing. 'Irkens don't sleep! Pathetic, weak humans sleep! Irkens do not need to indulge in such inferior processes of recreation!'

'But you will learn all about nightmares,' Gaz said. 'Because I promised I'd make you suffer for locking the bathroom door. Face my revenge! I've spent an excruciating hour in your crazy robot's presence preparing for it.'

Gaz stepped into the room, revealing GIR, who was standing behind her and carrying a tray full of waffles. The staple was so high, it nearly blocked the robot's view. But it immediately spotted its master, alive and awake, and happiness overwhelmed it.

'Yaaay! Master wants waffles!' GIR tackled Zim, hugging him, clinging to him, smearing grease and waffles all over him.

Zim started to race in circles, screaming, dodging, trying to shake the robot off. His spider legs whipped and flailed. 'NO! NOOO! Get off me, GIR!'

'Zim!' Dib yelled in panic. 'Watch, where you're sticking that! Watch, where you - '

_Crash!_

One of the long metal legs smashed Dib's bedside lamp. Another pierced the surface of the main computer screen.

Electricity all around the room, the floor, the house went wild. Sparks hissed, lights flickered. Down in the kitchen various machines came alive. GIR cheered, 'Pyjama-paaarty!', and danced to the chaos. Zim screeched on top of his voice, jerking spasmodically.

The first floor bathroom door shook, as if under attack. Over the whirring noise of hair-dryers, shavers and electric tooth-brushes there was the unmistakable sound of something howling and yelping.

'I'll be right with you!' Dib screamed. 'Just stay away from the drains and the water, you hear me? I have to – I just – '

He tried to get to his computers, but the keyboard would not respond. Sparks erupted from the keys. Smoke welled from the back of the central unit.

'Destruction,' gasped Dib, swivelling his chair this way and that, pushing buttons. _'Total destruction!'_

Gaz went over and kicked Zim in the butt. Apparently, her heavy boots were perfectly insulated, when the rest of the house, including a certain Irken, was not. Zim's spider leg fell away from the destroyed lamp, thus disrupting the electric circuit.

'Nooo,' wailed Dib. 'My experiments!'

Zim sat up. He looked at the broken screens, the sparks, the smoke. It didn't seem an unusual, disturbing sight to him. In fact he wore that slightly annoyed look of a human taking in the results of a pot of milk boiled over. Something to clean up and start again, when all you wanted to do was enjoy a quick cocoa during commercial break.

Dib, however, wasn't used to electric havoc, and he turned, his face white. His throat worked, but no sound came out.

Zim met his gaze, raising his shoulders in an intergalactic standard gesture signifying the complete dismissal of any personal responsibility.

_'Oops.'_

Then he got up and jumped out of the window. Standing on the curbstone he screamed for GIR to follow him. GIR yelled his consent and, flapping two hands full of waffles like wings, activated some kind of thrusters that propelled it right through the window and towards its master. Zim yelled, as he was run over, flung up into the air and caught again by his robot. Then, sitting on GIR's back and holding on for dear life, he could be seen rocketing in the general direction of his house.

Dib allowed himself the luxury of heaving a deep sigh. 'Gaz? Can I use your computer?'

She had her Game Slave console in front of her face, working the buttons with both thumbs.

'Whatever,' she growled.

* * *

><p>Dib slid onto the chair in front of his sister's computer and established internet connection.<p>

'I'm not stupid, Zim,' he said aloud. 'I knew you'd be up to something. So I transferred backups of my scans to secondary storage facilities. I can access them online and retrieve all the information I collected about you - '

The website of the external storage provider loaded.

'Hah! Here we go! It's minutes till victory! You, space monster, are – _a squirrel_?'

Dib stared, as the display underwent remarkable changes. The advertisements vanished, the log-in area closed. The screen was filled with the image of a squirrel, wiggling its muzzle at Dib. Then he was offered a bird's view on a labyrinth. It was a crudely programmed maze, two-dimensional and using a minimum of colours like some old-fashioned arcade game.

And just like in those arcade games, there were stylized characters to be steered through the maze. One looked like an image of Dib himself – or rather: an image of his face in a head that was too large and overlapped the lines of the narrowly drawn corridors. It left a trail of peanuts as it moved. The only other character in the game was the squirrel. It followed the trail of peanuts, eating them, leaving only mangled, emply nutshells. Closing in on Dib's head.

A textbox opened onscreen, while Dib stared at the images. A line was typed as he watched. _*Like my squirrel?*_ it read. _*As I said, breaking into your system is peanuts.*_

Dib found a button marked "Send Instant Message to other players", and hit it.

_*Zim?*_ he wrote. _*Where are you? You can't be home already?*_

_*Using a portable unit,*_ came the answer. _*Uh-oh. Have to give earth-worm behind drive-thru-window payment for burritos and slushie. Hang on.*_

There was a short pause, then another message, _*No, GIR. Eat your burrito. Slushie's mine.*_

Angry, Dib wrote,_ *Zim! Keep your mind on the fight, will you?*_

_*No fight, Dib-stink. It's a game. If squirrel gets you, you get eaten. If squirrel reaches exit first, data gets eaten.*_

_*How do I kill the squirrel?*_

There was a pause in their communication. Then, Zim's next mail,_ *What do you mean, kill the squirrel?*_

'So you didn't include this option. But that's unfair!' said Dib aloud. He didn't bother typing and sending it. Better to get on with the game. Zim had not said anything about what happened when Dib reached the exit first, without getting caught by the squirrel. So that was what Dib would do. He put his fingers on the keys and started to move his character that had so far been dawdling in pause mode.

A textbox popped up, _*Run, Dib-stink, run!*_

And Dib ran. It was not really a challenge, once he'd figured out the controls. But his character's bloated head got stuck every three or four seconds, and the squirrel moved erratically, changing speed and directions seemingly without any plan or motivation. Either Zim was a lousy player, or he didn't really make an effort - or it wasn't him playing at all, but his crazy robot sidekick.

Suddenly, an 'incoming mail' sign popped up: message from the Network.

'Not now,' said Dib, closing the box.

It popped up again: _urgent_ message from the Network for Agent Mothman.

'Not now, not now,' repeated Dib. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His fingers raced.

Closer came the squirrel...

_Ding!_

Incoming communication from the Network.

'I. Can't! Care about you guys right now!' screamed Dib. He was typing for his life, hitting the keys in a machine gun staccato.

_*Nearly there,*_ mailed Zim. _*You're not trying.*_

'I am trying!' yelled Dib. 'I really do! But - '

A blue pop-up appeared onscreen, blotting out Zim's text box. An instant message, sent via the Network's own intern service. It read, _*Agent Mothman, if you read this – we've been trying to contact you. Check your mails.*_

Giving a scream that mixed anger and fear alike, Dib hit the "close pop-up window" button. Then he tackled the control buttons, driving his character forward, forward, the squirrel hard on his tracks. He reached the exit, typed the password that would allow him to access his personal files.

The labyrinth dissolved. The desktop displayed folders. They should contain his collected data.

Dib put security settings on "high". Then he clicked on the first folder. 'But -?'

Opening the folders one by one, he found: **a)** A list of ingredients of Poop-dog's chocolate bars, statistically related to occurences of spontaneous combustions in Mrs. Bitter's classes, as reported during the last two decades. **b)** Quotations from some B-movie celebrating alien supremacy, printed in letters that consisted of chihuahua dogs fighting for lumps of meat (the capital 'Q' being particularly disturbing to look at). **c)** A sheet music of the skool kids' favorite "rain" song for string quartet and one oboe. **d)** A cubistic realization of Earth's sun (five-color print on a background of the brightest headache-red). **e)** A psychedelic variation of the same subject, accompanied by a recording of GIR's voice intoning a steady note of "Aaaaah" that rose and fell with the spiraling movement of the animated image.

Dib quickly opened the next folder.

The screen went blank. There was only a sound effect, and one that Dib had come to recognize: a recording of the soft, regular noise of an Irken breathing in deep slumber.

Whatever outbursts of drunken creativity Zim had meant to commit to this particular section of computerized memory, the effects of the sleeping drugs had once more caught up with him first.

There was nothing left here to save. Dib faced it, even though he couldn't help a deep sigh. But somehow - somehow he'd known. Hadn't he?

He clicked the "instant message" button. He wrote, _*Zim, why didn't you tell me you had already hacked into my system?*_

_*I did. I told you it was peanuts.*_

_*Then what was the use of the labyrinth? The game?*_

_*Had to keep GIR interested.*_

Dib stared at the reply. Suddenly, it all seemed so surreal, sitting in front of a snoring screen. Fighting with an alien who was somewhere loose in town, riding a robot and drinking a slushie, as he typed his instant messages on a portable unit.

A textbox opened on his screen. _*Hey? HEY!*_ wrote Zim, somehow managing to get his obnoxious tone of voice across in his typing. _*Dib-human? You still there?*_

'Yes, Zim. I am still here. As are you, obviously.' Dib said softly. He closed the window.

Then he opened his mails, wanting to see what the Network had to tell him that was so important that it couldn't wait for one level of good old jump'n run.

* * *

><p>The evening came and Dib still sat at the computer desk.<p>

He did not respond to Zim's messages that kept popping up. He did not react to Gaz walking in and out, commenting and threatening, should he still be there by the time she wanted to turn in.

He just sat, thinking, _So that's why they didn't come after us. That's why they didn't care. I left it on the table! I friggin' left it on the autopsy table!_

Staring at Agent Thinpatience's note.

It read:

'This is the report on the autopsy of the object "alien/normal boy" submitted by Agent Mothman. We have conducted all possible tests and the results allow but one interpretation. We therefore describe the object as being of the Pinkest Pinkness, combined with Rubbery Surface and Cubular Outline. It is surrounded by Cuteness, using it in an aggressive way. We checked our files carefully and found a remarkable match to the data describing the strange flying force that attacked this Agent Thinpatience's holografic image during a visit at the Crazy House for Boyz last Wednesday. We herewith name it: The Flying Pinkness.

Whether it is of alien origin, remains yet to be proven. Unfortunately, the object has passed away or something...in death it looks just like any other rubber piggy.'

* * *

><p>+The End +<p>

A/N: Now then. That's the wrap. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so happy that you liked the story and I do feel sort of sorry that things had to draw to a close. But it wouldn't work, prolonging just for the sake of going on, and on, and on. Better to finish now and return with something new, if and when the inspiration comes to me again. My thanks to you all! So long!


End file.
